


Fallout

by MissBayliss



Series: The Coda Series [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean, Sick Dean Winchester, Sneezing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11471364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBayliss/pseuds/MissBayliss
Summary: It was 2005 at the Roosevelt asylum when Sam shot Dean in the chest, point blank, with a shotgun shell full of rock salt.





	Fallout

It was 2005 at the Roosevelt asylum when Sam shot Dean in the chest, point blank, with a shotgun shell full of rock salt. Dean muscled through the case, as he usually did, using sheer power of will and the desperate need to get his Sammy back.

"Do we need to talk about this?" Sammy had asked as they both rounded their sides of the impala.

"I just want to get some sleep."

It was out of character at the time, Sam thought. For Dean to mention he was tired. But he figured he was just pissed more than anything and didn't want to have the conversation Sam knew they needed to.

Dean dragged his hand across his chest and winced. Sam remained quiet, swallowing the salty taste of guilt. Then the car started and they headed off towards the motel.

They didn't talk during the ride back, but Sam stole occasional glances at his brother. He looked tired, beyond tired. He looked hurt. In more ways than one.

Dean dragged his duffle into the bathroom with him and shut the door. And that was all Sam saw of him for the next half hour.

 

 

Dean dumped his bag on the floor and winced. He stood in front of the mirror and peeled his jacket off slowly. It took him 5 whole minutes to get all three layers off and finally assess the damage. He had rings of bruises across his chest. Some had even broken through, tiny bits of rock salt imbedded in his skin. He did his best to pick those bits out and cranked the shower up.

The water did not feel good. The pressure was too much on the chest so he had to put his back to the spray. Little trickles of blood ran down his body into the drain. He was sure that other than the superficial damage, his ribs were bruised underneath.

He closed his eyes and sighed. It made him cough and the pain had him doubling over, clutching at the wall.

He knew what Sam had said wasn't real. He was under the influence of the doctor. But on some level at least, it was true. Sam believed it. No matter how deep down it was, it was there. And it didn't make Dean angry. He wasn't angry at all. He was heartbroken.

Dean cleaned his wounds, disinfected them and put dressings on the two deepest ones. There was an ache in his bones and his arms felt heavy. He rubbed ointment over his chest and stopped to lean on the vanity, taking a few shallow breaths. He felt a cough brewing but forced it down. He forced it all down.

 

 

Sam watched Dean emerge stiffly from the bathroom, wearing his black zip up hoodie. It was open far enough to tell he didn’t have a shirt on underneath.

“Hey, do you want me to take a look at your chest?” Sam said, as a peace offering.

“I took care of it,” Dean said harshly, his voice dry and grating.

“Dean… I’m sorry.”

“Can we not right now?” Dean crossed the room and closed the curtain, blocking out the daylight, “I’m tired.”

“Okay,” Sam said, jaw working as he sat on the end of his bed.

Dean didn’t say anything else. He just climbed into bed and curled on his side, facing away from Sam.

Sam wasn’t tired. He waited till he heard Dean’s soft snores, and saw the tension release from his shoulders, then he decided he’d go out, check out the library, see a movie, kill some time, and wait for Dean to sleep and cool off from the events of the night.

He wrote a brief note and slipped out quietly.

 

 

When Dean woke up a few hours later, the room was dark and Sam was gone _. Probably sick of me bossing him around_ , Dean thought bitterly. He coughed suddenly, unable to suppress the power behind it.

“ _God_ ,” he winced, eyes pressed shut.

He felt awful, and it was more than just the pain in his chest. He groaned inwardly, as he accepted the bitter truth that he was indeed sick on top of everything else. He felt chilled, and nauseous. A shiver ran through him. Dean couldn’t remember feeling this bad for a long time. His mind was swimming, stomach churning, heart aching.

 

 

When Sam got back he’d brought dinner as a peace offering. A cheeseburger with extra bacon for Dean. It was barely 4 o’clock in the afternoon but he knew his brother would be hungry after sleeping the day away.

He unlocked the door and didn’t see Dean in his bed. The bathroom door was ajar and the light was on.

“Dean?”

He heard a weak cough.

“You okay?”

More coughing followed and no response came. Sam sat the food on the table and nudged the bathroom door open. Dean was sitting on the bathroom floor, white as a sheet, and sweating.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean coughed out.

Sam leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey yourself.”

“Have a seat, join the party.”

Sam grimaced, “What’s wrong, man?”

Dean waved a hand and opened his mouth, “I’m –“

“No, you’re not fine.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, swallowing thickly.

Sam sighed as Dean leaned over the toilet and started retching.

Sam went back to the kitchen, putting the bag of food in the mini fridge, and cracking a window.

When he went back in Dean was resting back against the wall, eyes closed, sniffling.

Sam held out a length of toilet paper to him, “Hey.”

Dean opened his eyes and reached for it. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated. He blew his nose, coughing afterwards.

“You ready to go back to bed?”

Dean balled the paper up in his hand, and held his other out to his brother. Sam grabbed Dean’s elbow and hoisted him up.

“This came on quickly,” Sam commented, guiding Dean through to his bed.

“I guess I’m a bit run down.”

Sam frowned, knowing most of that was his fault, and set Dean down. Dean collapsed back on his bed, breath sawing in and out, even whiter than he was before.

Sam sat next to him, “Dean… let me see your chest.”

Dean groaned, eyes closed, “Fine.”

He didn’t move but Sam took his window and tugged the zipper down on Dean’s hoodie. He opened it fully, pushing it aside so he could see the whole damage.

“Oh my god…”

“Pretty, ain’t it?”

“Dean…”

“I’ve had worse, Sam.”

Dean pushed Sam’s hand away and zipped his hoodie back up, shuddering.

“Hang tight. I’ll get you something,” Sam grabbed the first aid kit as Dean rolled onto his side with a violent coughing fit.

When he approached Dean with the pills, he was grabbing at his chest, eyes closed, swallowing convulsively like he wanted to puke again.

“Good timing, huh?” Sam attempted a joke.

Dean cracked one eye open, “Oh, the best.”

“Here, take the strong painkillers. We got nowhere to be right now. And I’ll go get you some ice for that.”

Dean struggled up onto an elbow and dry swallowed the pills. He sniffed thickly, “Thanks… we, uh, got any tissues?”

“Yeah,” Sam grabbed the box from the bathroom and set it next to his brother.

“ _Heh’ **SCTHSKUEW** w! Huhhh’ **PSCHHTT** uhh! Son of a…_”

“Bless you,” Sam winced in sympathy, “Just keep those pills down and you should be good in a half hour.”

“Lucky me,” Dean moaned, slugglishly pulling at the tissue box, while trying to remain as still as physically possible. “ _Heh’ **CHXXTT** uh! Gahh…_”

Sam sighed, staring down at his injured, sick, and sad brother. He pulled the bedding off his bed and bundled it over Dean.

“What are you doing?” Dean sniffled, eyes watering.

“Making you comfortable.”

Sam tucked a pillow under Dean’s arm, gently pushing it towards his chest, “It’ll help when you cough or sneeze.”

Dean watched Sam with assessing eyes while he fussed, “You don’t have to do all this.”

“Yes,” Sam snapped, “Yes… I do. And I want to. So just, shut up and let me help you, okay? I owe you that much.”

Dean looked confused but also too tired to complain, so he just settled down and closed his eyes again, knuckles pressed up under his nose.

“Thanks, Sam.”

Sam smiled, “Anytime… anytime.”

 

_End._


End file.
